


together, entwined

by milktoast_mcgee



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: BABBY'S FIRST FANFIC, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I'm Sorry, Married Couple, Shameless Smut, am i doing this right, birds and the bees more like wyrms and the trees, consent is hot and good, just some good ol fashioned bug smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 00:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milktoast_mcgee/pseuds/milktoast_mcgee
Summary: The White Lady roams the halls of the Palace uneasy, needy, and anxious. She's been waiting. She finds him in the workshop as usual, hunched over his work and denying himself any moment's pause. But she'll wait no longer.---"Oh, Root," said the King with a breathy chuckle. "You know very well you can have me however you like."





	together, entwined

The halls of the Palace loomed quiet and cold. Silence held steady in the air, disturbed only by the gentle rustle of leaves. When she found herself drifting through the long halls, a reverent stillness haunted her. The servants' conversations stopped. Their eyes opened wide and their heads bowed as she passed. They offered her only murmurs of "your Highness" and "your Majesty" when she graced them with a wave of her hand. The King's guards stood still and steel and steadfast. Their cold, soulless gaze watched her, unmoving, as she passed door after door. 

Though mostly blind, she had no need to see. Her vines had long since stopped shivering from the cold floor and the cold air. She'd long since felt the intricate designs upon the arched doors, the stone railings, the many statues formed in the image of gods and creatures long served and long dead.

She, too, had statues in the palace. They mirrored the diminished form she took to wander the Palace and the humble paths of the kingdom. The statues stood beautiful and magnificent like everything else in the immaculate Palace. She knew where each impressive statue stood and did best to avoid them, but her route forced her to pass one, and another. A servant, taking great care to dust the carefully-shaped curves of her branches, scrambled away from her work to bow. Another servant adorned the statue with flowers and charms like the kind the Queen wore each day. When the White Lady greeted her and her companion a good morning -- regardless of how strange and elastic time in the Palace might have been -- she yelped and crumbled to the floor spouting apologies and praise. 

She chuckled lightly and helped the two young bugs to their feet with an arm of gentle vines. The servants said nothing. Though blind, she could feel their gaze, eyes wide and mouths agape. One bug coughed and nudged the other, and the two silently returned to her work. The silence fell like a blade. Her smile evaporated. She continued alone and the servants' hushed conversation resumed as they fussed about her graven image.

Unease stewed inside her. Her branches rustled, but the silence was unrelenting.

The moulds' shadows stood tall and unmoving. The void churning around inside them drew them dark and impenetrable in her gaze. They guarded doors and passages from curious servants and prying eyes. They guarded the same from even her.

"Good morning," she said to the unmoving, unfeeling creature. Its armor glistened in the unwavering light, despite the dark churning inside it. Several winged moulds hovered in the air. They circled her crown of branches like flies. Their small propellers hummed, and she gave a hum in reply. "I would suppose His Highness is in his usual place?"

The kingsmould offered no answer. The wingsmoulds continued their steady patrol. A stark contrast to the invincible light of the Palace lay ahead. A heavy, palpable dark pooled beyond the guard and its small army. She cocked her head and the ornaments in her hair gave a soft jingle.

"I shall take that as a 'yes.' Please, allow me to pass."

The armored mould seemed to ponder her words, but she only imagined it. She waved the wingsmoulds away with a hand and sighed. She attempted to do the same with the guard, but it didn't move. The dark in its shell watched her carefully. She frowned. It was no wonder why the King liked such a cold, unfeeling, uncaring thing. She tensed. Her branches shuddered and something needled inside her. She could have very easily thrown the thing aside, or crack it open and bleed it dry of all its damned void, and race down the hall at once, but...

Something clattered from down the hall, far behind her. She turned her head. The armored mould moved from its spot like a dusty doll. The plates of its armor creaked and groaned. The Queen could hear the servants squabbling as the winged moulds flew to investigate. One of them had broken a piece from her statue -- a useless little ornament, probably, fitting for a useless ornament like her own statue -- and they frantically attempted to clean it up before the guards could find them. They would be fine, she supposed. The moulds were instructed to never use force unless absolutely necessary. Usually. The guard watched them in silence, deaf to their apologies and bleeding hands grasping glass and stone. She seized her chance. She moved forward into the dark, dark hall, hugging her arms close.

The dark pressed against her. It whispered and sighed along her branches and vines. She closed her eyes. The shadows breathed heavy upon her, but she kept her steady pace. When she reached the arched door, she let a sigh. A shiver rattled her body and the ornaments in her branches. When she opened her eyes, the dark relented some. A reprieve gleamed ahead, dispelling the dark. A beacon -- no, Hallownest's beacon. Unmistakable and bright. A light. Her light.

The Pale King sat at work. The workshop bathed in a silence unknown to the rest of the Palace. The void pooled in ornate glass containers and seeped into the floor. It breathed and seethed and she could feel it watching her. A stone basin stood beside the long worktable, before the huge stone template for the King's many lifeless soldiers. Empty winged shells dangled from the ceiling on weavers' threads. Whispers rustled and rippled in the air, but the King's radiant light banished them. She could hear him working quietly, delicately, with tools in hand. He never muttered to himself while he worked. Never hmmed or grumbled or grunted or sighed. Sweat and dust didn't dare tarnish the cool steel of his crown, his elegant robes, his pale visage, or his long, delicate fingers. But his attentions drowned in his work -- something that made her giggle aloud.

"Hard at work, I see, Dear Wyrm."

The tools grew quiet. Even the whispering shadows gave pause. She waited at the doorway for him to address her, to invite her to his side, but he was silent. His crown dipped some. The sound of his metal pick made her grimace. She moved from her spot and felt his cold, immaculate light upon her branches. The same light nearly blinded any beast, any bug. They hurled themselves to the stone and bowed and begged beneath his gaze. They prayed to the light, pleaded to the light, pledged themselves to the light. She bristled. Her vines rustled and she hummed.

"I did wait for you, I hope you know."

If he noticed her, he didn't show it. As she approached, she peered over his shoulder. He sat in his chair, hunched over his work. She spied the shape of something like an egg. His needlelike pick drew long, careful lines along its surface. He'd peeled back a thin, transparent layer from the egg, and another. Even her limited sight let her see the myriad runes upon the egg's skin. Void bled from the egg and caused the unknown script to shudder and illuminate like soul. He moved carefully. His other hand wielded a pen and ink, inscribing the arcane text upon a tablet. The work was slow, meticulous, and graceful. Her anxiety twisted. Her branches tensed. Vines like careful fingers curled around the edge of the table. She leaned close, taking a moment to feel the blessed cold of his light.

"Your Highness."

He breathed. His pen continued to draw the complicated, unknown runes before his eyes. He set his pick aside, only to find a magnifying glass from the set beside him. She leered. The void whispered through the walls and seemed to laugh at her, or at them both. Her vines ventured from the edge of the table to the handle of the magnifying glass. A small, careful vine curled around his fingers and eased him to pause once more. His pen stopped.

"My Root," he said, his voice at once soft and steel. "You should know this is no place for you."  
"I could say to you the very same," she chuckled. She cradled his hand in her grasp, but he slowly pulled away. He went for the pick once more, shaking his head. She watched his profile carefully, his shape so distinct from the rest of the oppressive dark. "Does Hallownest's King deserve to languish in such a dark, depressing place?"  
"I've a great deal of work to do," he told her like so many, many times before. A brave vine curled around his wrist.  
"My dear," she said, her words nearly voiceless. "You need to rest."  
He gave her a distinct hmpfh, pulling his steady hand away once more. "I've no need."  
Her vines found his wrist and ventured down along his arm again. She took firm grip and pulled his arm aside. "Rest with me."  
He shook his head. When she set her head just beside his, he bristled. "I would, My Lady. But such is a reprieve I hardly deserve, not when I've nearly--"  
"My Wyrm."

Her vines crept around to his other side. They slid down along his shoulder and his arm. She felt the distinct, pleasant cool of his body beneath his robes. He stiffened, straightening himself where he sat. Her vines didn't move, but she could feel his gaze on them, wrapped around his both arms. He sighed a stiff, brittle sigh.

"...this is neither the time nor place, My Lady."  
"I've missed you," she hummed, eager vines creeping down his shoulders, pressing at his chest. "I need you, Love."  
His breath hitched just enough for her to notice. "My Root, please. You very well know I, I do feel the same, but..."

A cold hand graced her vines around his other wrist. But her grip tightened some, prying his arms apart. He shifted uneasily in the chair. Her head on his shoulder pinned him where he sat. He leered down at his arms, spread awkwardly open.

"My Lady," he said softly. His words were consumed by her gentle laugh as she nestled her face closer to his.  
"My dear," she cooed. Her grasp loosened, but her curling vines ventured, creeping along his front. "You might be trembling."  
He tried to mask an anxious noise with a chuckle of his own. "Ah. Perhaps."  
"Why would that be?"  
"Because, well, hmm."

Her vines crawled along his chest and slowly, carefully, drew aside the hem of his robes. He grumbled some and wrestled an arm free to halt her. She brought a collection of vines along the curve of his mask like a tender hand. Her slender fingers drew themselves along his face, finding the cold, sharp steel of his crown. Her fingers curled around his long, impressive horns while her other hand -- other hands of vines soon joining it -- made slow work to open his robes. A shiver rattled through him. He bristled in an attempt to hide it, to steel himself, but she knew him too well.

She pushed herself against the back of the chair, allowing her vines to drape over and around him. Her sigh barely reached the air as she let his robes fall. The thick fabric -- white and gleaming as the rest of him, the finest work of weaversilk -- slid down his shoulders and draped from the crook of his elbows, where the Queen had him bound. His chest exposed to the cool dark, a lone tendril of a vine traced a line down his middle.

"Hhah..."

He was like her, after all. He, too, diminished himself to walk among the bugs and beasts. He tore apart his godly form and was born again from his decaying corpse at the kingdom's edge. The Wyrm became one with them, uniting all of Hallownest, but he towered above them all. He was their beacon, their light, their King. The glittering white of his visage contrasted sharply with the ebony black of his body. Her vines carefully studied his sharp exoskeleton, the jagged plating of his carapace, and the sleek black of his abdomen. His long, slender arms were black and delicate as the rest of him. One of his hands managed to catch her eager vines curling around his waist.

"My Lady." The tension in his voice mirrored the tension she felt turning over inside him. His piercing gaze found her and she grew still. His words were sharp, but careful. "You and I, we... will retire. At once."  
"I waited for you," she nearly whimpered. Her vines grasped his waist, slipping beneath the discarded robes. She traced the lines of his hips and sighed. "I'll wait no longer, Love."  
His eyes flickered uselessly to his abandoned work upon the table. "Ahh, well. You are insatiable as always, I... suppose..."

Something as dumb as a chair couldn't separate her from him. Her branches crept over the chair and her vines traveled the length of his spine. Her careful touch studied the sharp ridges of his spine and the thin, pretty gossamer of his wings. She could feel his long tail -- a relic of his former body, hidden by long, elegant robes -- twitching from her adventurous touch. When his hands attempted to halt her again, she firmly drew them apart. Tensed vines like hungry, desperate hands raked down his abdomen and he writhed.

"My dear Wyrm," she whispered. She gripped his waist as he squirmed. She nestled her head against his shoulder. He was cold. His light and his mask and his body were cold. She curled vines along his long horns and nearly moaned. "I love you."  
"My..." he tried, but she quickly silenced him. A twist of vines snatched his robes and tore them away completely, casting them to the floor. The King hissed, but he didn't fight against her firm grip. Instead, he shifted some, leering at the white vines slithering along his exposed legs. "My Lady, I..."  
She repeated it over and over, like the prayers the whole kingdom offered to him. "I love you, My King, I love you."

He bolted upright. Soft, tender vines drew lower, settling beneath his waist. She grasped his hips and held him steady. She gently brushed a lone finger along the slit between his legs and his whole body twitched. His shoulders stiffened. His head bobbed. She couldn't help but chuckle as he stifled a voiceless moan.

She kissed his neck and basked in the taste of his light. "I need you, Love. I need you. Please."

He couldn't hold back an ecstatic sigh. He let her draw his arms up, binding his wrists at her back. Her vines crawled along his cold, slender arms and his long, sharp spine. Her grasp slid down along his stiff, trembling legs as her fingers kneaded gently between them. His hips jerked. Her curled fingers grew slick at his slit, and she slipped inside him. His head tipped back and he gasped, eyes open wide. Her careful vines drew back some as his length emerged -- both cocks soon stood long and at attention, twitching with the King's effort to keep composed.

"Oh, Root," he said with a breathy chuckle. "You know very well you can have me however you like."  
"I do," she purred, rolling against him. Her grip clenched at his hips and her softest, most careful vines encroached upon him. They stroked his both cocks as she slid into his chair. She pulled him into her lap, her own breaths short and eager. "I'll be gentle, Love."  
He huffed. His dicks twitched as her vines coiled around them. "There's no need for that."  
"Hmm?"

She stroked him, her vines sleek with his own slick. He sighed, shivering, and she relished every tremble. She could taste him with her every inch, every unruly vine. He tasted like pale ore and steel and the blinding, terrible light that brought the kingdom to enlightenment. She held him tight. He wriggled and shuddered as she stroked and squeezed him. He badly stifled a moan with a laugh.

"I mean what I say," he assured her. "I'm yours, Dear Root. However you may like."  
"However I may like," she repeated with a light giggle. She waved several smooth vines like hungry tentacles before his face. "My dearest, most precious, most beautiful King...?"  
He laughed, writhing from her machinations. "You'll take me, then?"  
It was her turn to bristle and stiffen. "Ohh, I will?"  
He bowed his head. "If that's what you wish."  
She hummed. A finger tapped the curve of his mask with impatience. "But what do you wish, Love?"  
He nodded against her touch. She gave his cocks a tentative squeeze and he let out a shaky breath. "I, ah. If you would."  
"What was that?"  
His hips rocked with her slow, steady strokes. He chuckled uneasily. "You'll not make me beg."  
"Hallownest's great King, begging like some hungry peasant? I would never dream of it," she nearly giggled. She trailed kisses along the curve of his mask. Her grip tightened some and his dicks stiffened even more. The King couldn't hold back a shaky moan. Her voice grew low, almost predatory. "But, Light, if you'd mind your manners."  
"Manners!" He laughed, but he nearly choked on his laughter when she grasped him tightly.

She let a low breath and drew her kisses down his neck. Her vines pumped his both cocks at once and he writhed. She could feel and taste the want dripping from the pointed heads of his dicks but -- suddenly, she stopped. Her vines curled around the base of his length. He shuddered. 

"Now," she said quietly, "what was that?"  
"You're cruel, Lady," he hissed. She shook her head.  
"You only need to say 'please,' Dear. Is that really so difficult?"

He growled. Her fingers dipped low. She loosened her grip enough to let her touch wander. She traced the underside of his two dicks while her vines eased his legs apart a little more. A particularly hungry few fingers dipped lower, below his cocks, finding the slit beneath them. The King gave an uncharacteristic yelp. She withdrew in an instant, but he groaned.

"...ahh, well, then. Please."  
"Hmm?" Her fingers wrapped around him and pumped only once. He hissed.  
"Root."  
"What is it, My Dear?"  
The word came voiceless and heavy. "...please."  
"Please, what?"  
She relished in the obvious effort in his voice. "Take... me. Please."

His request was more than enough. Her vines throbbed. Her urges -- her roiling unease and anxiety -- surged in the wake of his plea. The vines at his wrists hardened, grasping them tightly. Vines snatched at his legs and raised them high, spreading them apart. He yelped at the sudden movement, and his surprise urged her on. She nearly growled, sighing against him. The vines wrapped around his cocks pumped him desperately, and she held his hips steady as he tried to rock against her. She felt his every shudder, his shivers and sighs. Her branches trembled. She'd long since stopped listening to the stupid ornaments and charms in the branches above her face, but she would be putting her other vines to good use.

Her body shifted and her vines parted. She, too, poorly masqueraded as a beastly being, and she maintained her peculiar anatomy. Her deeper vines emerged, slithering forth beneath the King and between his legs. They rose, long and thick, to lick at his legs and his abdomen, just barely grazing the heads of his dicks. He froze at the sight of the long, sleek, thick vines just before him and how they glistened in his own light. Throbbing and needing and slick with want, like his own dual cocks. He shifted some, chuckling.

"I need you," she said, her breath uneven. "Say it again, Love."  
He nodded. The words came unsteadily, uneasily, but certain. "Please, take me."  
"Ohhh," she moaned. "Would you like that, Dear Highness?"  
He growled as she nipped at his neck. "Y-... yes."

Her vines licked along his abdomen and he moaned aloud. She wrapped around his cocks and languished her vine fingers, like tongues, around them. She eased him against her and his hips pushed into her as she alternated, pumping one, and then the other, and again. She hummed as his back arched. His hips jerked. His legs trembled in her grasp. Her vines curled around his legs as he attempted to pull them together. Her machinations surged through him and he thrust into her grip. 

A hand settled beneath him. Her fingers kneaded against his slit and slipped inside. His whole body writhed. His twitching tail wrapped around one of the branches firmly holding his legs apart. He attempted to draw his legs together again, but she shook her head, digging her fingers into his hips.

"I'll be gentle," she said, but he grunted in return.  
"Th-there's... no need."  
She laughed. "But, Highness, you're trembling. You don't want me to stop, do you--"  
"Please," he hissed again. She felt the cold of his horns tangled in her branches. His hands grasped at her bonds holding them in place. "Please, My Lady, do what you -- please..."  
"Then, Highness, if you could spread your legs just a little bit more..."

He muttered something useless, but let her keep her firm grasp on his legs. Her fingers -- thin, curling vines scissoring together inside him -- pushed yet deeper. She felt him tense around her, his legs trembling, tail coiled around her and twitching. Thick, cool slick drooled from his slit as her strokes along his cocks slowed. She let a deep, shaky breath. She drew strings of his own wetness along his dicks and he writhed. He tried to hold back his voice, but she eased from him one moan after another. She stopped suddenly and he whined, and the desperation in his voice made her hunger reach its peak.

"My Wyrm," she purred. She lifted his legs some. A particularly eager vine, thick and slick, poised itself beneath him. It stroked along his slit and she took the moment to revel in the taste of him needing her. He shuddered as the vine's head rubbed against him. It nudged past his opening just enough to taunt his twitching hips. She kissed him and, holding him tight, growled like a beast. "I've waited so long, I m-may not be able to hold back."  
"That," he breathed, his words trembling with the rest of his body. "...is quite alright."  
Her vines around his legs held firm. The hands on his waist ventured lower, fingers spreading open his slit. He writhed and threw his head back as she laughed. "What was that, Love?"  
"Don't torment me, Root!" he spat. His wrists fought against her and his hips jerked to try and push her inside, even a little bit more. "You'll tease me no longer. Do as you m--hhk--!"

She pushed into him, burying herself with one single stroke. The lone vine throbbed and she could feel him clench around her. His legs and arms fought in her binding as she pushed deeper. He shouted, hips rocking against her, only for her vine to retreat. Before he could hiss in protest, she shoved in again, her fingers easing him open even more. He threw his head back, his eyes open wide, as she steadily, hungrily pumped his cocks in time with her thrusts. She bit into his shoulder to steady herself and he whined. His back arched and her vines licked his jagged spine. His wings shuddered and his tail coiled tighter around her hungry vines.

"My Dear," she sighed with ragged breath. Another vine joined the first inside him. The two twisted together and coiled deep inside him. She soaked in his taste, his black body writhing helplessly in her grasp. She licked the curve of his mask and his crown and closed her eyes. She had no need to see. She basked in him and his light and drove herself yet deeper. "Y-you fff-feel so lovely inside."  
"M-my...--ahh...!" His moans grew voiceless as she stroked him and bulged inside him. 

The vines slick and pulsing inside him stiffened, letting a thick, honeylike slick of their own. He groaned and shoved his hips against her. The entwined couple quickly found a rhythm. A third vine slipped inside him and his hips moved with her. His chest heaved with uneven breath. His hands grasped tightly at her branches, fingers twisted in her ornaments. Her slick vines licked and coiled inside him. He moaned and writhed and nestled his head to hers. She opened her eyes and found his half-lidded gaze on her. He slipped one arm free from her grasp and -- gently, carefully -- caressed her face with a tepid hand.

"M-My..." The steel in his voice softened, his words no more than a whisper. "...My Love..."

She couldn't stop herself. Her vines wrapped around him and nestled him deep against her. She thrust in deep, pulling back only to drive herself in deep again, and again. He lurched forward, bowing his horned crown. Her hands dug deep into his waist, his hips. They curled around his neck and tugged him back to grace his rigid crown with desperate, loving kisses. With his free arm, he hugged one of her vines to his chest -- at once to try and keep himself steady and return her embrace. His back arched and his tail tightened around her as her pace on his dicks hastened. He cried out. Her vines sucked his both dicks as she moaned and sighed against him.

"I love you," she said. She thrust into him and held him close. His cocks stiffened and she felt him reach his edge. He called out her name, a name from eons and eons before, from an age of gods and creatures long served and long dead. He cried out to her like a god, offering her prayers with his body. She teetered on the edge. Thick, sticky honey oozed from her vines inside him, and he called her name again, and again, and again. She cradled him close and drowned his insides with her own release, her breath a hiss against his mask. "I love you, I love you, I love you...!"

His whole body jerked. His hips thrust upward with his peak and her vines enveloped his cocks at once. She squeezed his both dicks as -- with a shiver, a desperate cry -- he was sent plummeting over the edge. His release wracked him, his hips moving with her. He came and she swallowed every thick, white strand. Her vines pumped him, coaxed him, eager to consume every thread of his godly seed. He poured into her and she wandered in dreams in the taste. 

They were gods. They were incredible, terrible beasts, joined together in union. He shuddered and moaned her name as he thrust into her warm grasp of vines and her honey dripped from between his legs. They towered over a frail, fragile kingdom. They destroyed and devoured the weak. They could raze a kingdom and he'd sire her another -- a nation -- an entire age. They could have offspring of hundreds, millions, born from their perfect union. He called her name again and she kissed him and cradled him close. 

"M-my..." he tried, but she shushed him. She released her grip on his arms and legs and they fell limp. His legs twitched. She loosened her vines from his dicks and lapped up any trace of his release. Her vines drew careful, soft, slow lines along the tip of his dicks, along the underside, along his slit. She tried to withdraw from inside him, but he grunted, grasping one of her arms. "D-don't."  
"Hmm?"  
"Like this," he breathed, his voice quiet. He settled himself against her and let her arms wrap around him. She kissed his sharp crown and he held her vines close. His breath steadied slowly, and so did hers. He eased and shook his head. His sharp gaze found her again, only for his eyes to close a moment later. "My Lady, sh-shall we... stay like this?"  
Before she could try to laugh or taunt him, but he held her arms around him firmly.  
"...please."

When she did laugh, it was a warm, quiet laugh. It did little to warm the cold, dark room around them, but their union was more than enough. She sighed. She embraced him and he did the same. Though one of her branches attempted to find his discarded robes, his tail wrapped around it and held her still. The room fell quiet. Even the hellish whispers of the void disappeared. He closed his eyes, and so did she.

"Love," she said lightly, drawing a finger along the curve of his mask. "Perhaps I've coaxed you to rest for a little while...?"  
"Ah." He chuckled voicelessly. "Perhaps..."

They laughed quietly together, entwined, settled against each other. The Palace loomed beyond them. The guards patrolled and the wingsmoulds fluttered through the halls. The servants tended to the statues and flowers and gossiped about just what kind of creatures the King and the Queen truly were. Did they need to eat? Did they need to sleep? Did they ever -- possibly -- you wouldn't think -- no, they couldn't possibly -- but maybe? And they would go about their work just the same. Having spent so much time hunched over the worktable, the Pale King finally fell asleep in the White Lady's arms. When she, too, did sleep, she dreamed such a moment could last for eons and eons more.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm by no means a fanfic writer but I wanted to AT LEAST TRY and give back to the tag after reading a whole bunch of fantastic stuff on this site (and not just the smut I swear but *starry eyes*). I've lurked the hk tag for a few months and I've basically read everything and I love all of you. And you. Especially you. Yes, even you!
> 
> So uhhh yeah here's a fic featuring PK and White Lady because they love each other very very much and consent is a Hot and Good thing and 
> 
> ok I'll excuse myself now sorry bye


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